(no subject)
I couldn't sleep, so I wrote some drabbles instead. Each one is 100 words exactly, minus the title. All are verse nonspecific, minus the first one, which was inspired by Corvus hopping in on a few enslaved angel posts lately.
Enslaved
He struggled against the collar, but of course, it could never be removed. Not unless his master willed it, and they never would. Bound to one family, warding off death for all eternity. Slavery wasn’t so bad. What angered the former crow was how he now unable to perform his duties. How many souls had missed their time to leave because he could not take them away? That was the thought that made the fire within burn him from the inside out. But eternity was a long time. Nothing was forever. Someday, he would be free. And then…. Revenge.
Eyes
It was his eyes that made people uneasy most often. Even his face, which showed little to no emotion, or the stiff, silent way his posture was got him as many strange looks as when they stared into his eyes. The guide could not blame them. They were the eyes that had lived through more death than a human could think possible. Every war, every massacre that had been recorded in the pages of history, he’d been a silent witness to. His wings had carried him over the earth for ages. It was no wonder his eyes had absorbed it all.
Pain
It was such a peculiar sensation, being shot. He was so small that a blast could very well obliterate his form. He almost preferred it that way. A shock of pain and then he was gone until he returned once more. Getting stabbed, now there was torture. He still had nightmares about being impaled over and over, his blood running, that sadistict Judah drinking his blood. But in the end, as always, the crow had his revenge. The lost souls had ripped him apart. Unlike the crow, he didn’t respawn, tossed into that Pit from which there was no escape.
Halloween
Soon, it would be time. All Hallows Eve was the night the veil between this world and the next was the thinnest. That’s why he could resurrect the spirits with little effort around this time. He could help them seek out their vengeance and return them once more. Eric was not his first, only the one to receive the most attention. He was a servant of death, it was true, but whoever said death had to abide by its own rules all the time? He’d helped many who otherwise would have never moved on and enjoyed every minute of it.
Name
It was at Pompeii he first got his name. The spirit of a young girl, frightened, had run away and he was forced to chase her. He wouldn’t have remembered, but she wouldn’t go with someone that was a stranger. She called him ‘Corvus’ as a comfort. At the time, it was Latin for crow, so he was only being called what he was. When the times changed and the language fell out of fashion, he kept a hold of it. Names were power. But no one could have power over him if they called him what he already was.
Enslaved
He struggled against the collar, but of course, it could never be removed. Not unless his master willed it, and they never would. Bound to one family, warding off death for all eternity. Slavery wasn’t so bad. What angered the former crow was how he now unable to perform his duties. How many souls had missed their time to leave because he could not take them away? That was the thought that made the fire within burn him from the inside out. But eternity was a long time. Nothing was forever. Someday, he would be free. And then…. Revenge.
Eyes
It was his eyes that made people uneasy most often. Even his face, which showed little to no emotion, or the stiff, silent way his posture was got him as many strange looks as when they stared into his eyes. The guide could not blame them. They were the eyes that had lived through more death than a human could think possible. Every war, every massacre that had been recorded in the pages of history, he’d been a silent witness to. His wings had carried him over the earth for ages. It was no wonder his eyes had absorbed it all.
Pain
It was such a peculiar sensation, being shot. He was so small that a blast could very well obliterate his form. He almost preferred it that way. A shock of pain and then he was gone until he returned once more. Getting stabbed, now there was torture. He still had nightmares about being impaled over and over, his blood running, that sadistict Judah drinking his blood. But in the end, as always, the crow had his revenge. The lost souls had ripped him apart. Unlike the crow, he didn’t respawn, tossed into that Pit from which there was no escape.
Halloween
Soon, it would be time. All Hallows Eve was the night the veil between this world and the next was the thinnest. That’s why he could resurrect the spirits with little effort around this time. He could help them seek out their vengeance and return them once more. Eric was not his first, only the one to receive the most attention. He was a servant of death, it was true, but whoever said death had to abide by its own rules all the time? He’d helped many who otherwise would have never moved on and enjoyed every minute of it.
Name
It was at Pompeii he first got his name. The spirit of a young girl, frightened, had run away and he was forced to chase her. He wouldn’t have remembered, but she wouldn’t go with someone that was a stranger. She called him ‘Corvus’ as a comfort. At the time, it was Latin for crow, so he was only being called what he was. When the times changed and the language fell out of fashion, he kept a hold of it. Names were power. But no one could have power over him if they called him what he already was.